DA Revelations Episode 8: What Might Have Been
by AngelExposed
Summary: Following the revelation of Jessie's relationship to him, Remy is reeling and hitting the drink on Christmas Day. Rogue begins to feel concern about his alcoholism and tries to get him to open up.
1. Chapter 1 That Kind of Life

DA REVELATIONS

EPISODE 8 – What Might Have Been

Chapter 1

That Kind of Life

"You told him?"

Hank McCoy looked at Kitty Pryde who was changing the diaper of her one day year old son Caleb. The tiny little red-faced child was whimpering as Kitty picked up his ankles and raised his backside to slide a fresh pamper beneath. "I didn't _tell_ him. He was snooping – and he found the folder on Jessie."

Kitty frowned, "You mean that really obvious bright pink folder you keep about Jessie that you hide under a photograph of the students where Jessie is sitting right at the front?"

"Uhm. Yes," said Hank, giving an apologetic grin.

"Wow, must have took him forever to find it," Kitty said rolling her eyes at him, "You're supposed to keep private files about students in a LOCKED place – you know the procedure."

"Yes, I do know that," Hank sighed, "I've been going over it so much lately it was becoming a rather tedious pain to keep retrieving out of the cabinet every time I wanted to see it. But I guess it was rather unprofessional of me as a teacher to do such a thing..."

"I can't believe you've been denying _me_ the right to tell him about Jessie and then you go screw up like this. Way to go," Kitty muttered.

"I would rather have been able to explain it _after_ we know more about her mother. We thought we were so close when the Professor went to Paris with that lead."

"Did he ever tell you what he learned there?"

"Only that Jessie's father spent some time there before she was born."

"That's not really much to go on," Kitty despaired."So...what was Remy's reaction anyway?" she taped up the diaper and picked the baby up and held him to her so his cheek was against her shoulder, she cradled his neck tenderly.

Hank leaned against the wall, "that's rather fascinating, actually. The anger? It sent him into a very unusual power surge. He showed signs of powers I never knew he had!"

Kitty's expression turned from trivial to very concerned, "what...powers?"

"Being able to charge up objects in the room he wasn't even looking at _or_ touching. And the air...it felt...statically charged. I'd never seen him display such abilities before. I wonder how much deeper they go."

"He won't let you pry into his powers," Kitty said, "he's very private about them."

"Well...it may be a matter of no choice – it could pose a threat if we don't spend some time focusing on what he can do and what can trigger them..."

"I'll talk to him about it – but he'll clam up," after a moment of pondering, Kitty admitted, "I guess the Professor has probably already told him that I know Jessie is his daughter."

"Oh dear. You'll be in very deep--"

"Shit," Kitty mouthed the words – she didn't want the infant even hearing swearwords, being so young and all – she was sure though he would hear plenty once Remy approached.

oooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooo

Remy stood in the east hallway looking into the formal living room where the dinner guests were all seated or standing with their drinks; the room was full of murmurs and discussions, and Jessie was sitting by the coffee table drawing with a pack of Crayola's and a notebook she'd gotten for Christmas from one of the guests.

His mind was full of questions as he watched the girl – his _daughter._ He couldn't believe the words – they seemed so strange even in his thoughts. The more he thought about it, the more things made sense; the lingering feelings he had for her, the closeness with her, that certain bond; the feelings of instinct and that need to take care of her somehow. And now, Kitty's pushing him to get to know the girl, to bond with her...that made sense now.

He wondered if time had gone on, would he have understood the truth before it was told to him? Could he have possibly figured it out through the sheer parental instinct and bond alone? _Probably not...or I wouldn't still be in shock now...I'd have sensed it. I _should_ have sensed my relationship with her, but I didn't..._

Remy leaned into the wall, tilting his head a little to the side to look at her, watch her a little more closely. She was too shy to interact with the rest of the guests, so she sat quietly – but even as she busied herself about drawing, she seemed bored and restless. He so wanted to approach her and talk to her. But how? How could he do that now _knowing_ what he knew now that he hadn't known only two hours ago? And how could he be close to her? He couldn't _tell_ her the truth, she'd never be able to comprehend it, and he had _no_ way of ever explaining it properly – he himself didn't even know how she existed.

_But she _does_ exist, Remy. She's your daughter, and she's here. But...what do I do now? How can I be close to her without making everyone suspicious; every time I get close to her I see Wolverine looking a bit edgy, and Asschunk, Iceman did I know. When he comes back, all the rumours and accusations are going to start..._

It felt horrible; knowing and not being able to divulge the truth to her. The girl who longed for a father, a family, who longed to be part of something more. He longed for a daughter too – and although he felt guilty to think of it, especially when Gabrielle lay in a grave in Bayville cemetery, he couldn't deny he _wanted_ to be Jessie's father more than anything. They both needed each other, but it was as far as it could go, and it might be years before he would be able to tell her who she really was to him.

There was something else bothering him: everything he'd missed out on through the past seven years. Moments he was even missing out on now because he was afraid to reveal that closeness to everyone else for fear of what they might think.

He spied Rogue standing talking to one of the members of another team of mutants from Scotland, the team that Kurt helped man. She was smiling, and seemed happy enough.

_How can I tell Rogue?_ He wondered, feeling even saddened by the whole mess. _We've just begun to truly connect again; this will scare her. She gets scared when there's talks of commitment and family. She proved that to me when I asked about children before...how will she react if I told her Jessie is my daughter?_

Remy was almost sure he already knew her reaction – it wouldn't be good. She'd flee, or decide that it was time to break up permanently. He couldn't handle that. He couldn't handle letting her go again when he'd only just finally connected with her on that level again. It was too much for him to go through. And especially not when it seemed like this strange new manifestation of his power might provide some kind of solution to their being together physically – something they had both longed for in a very long time.

Rogue turned towards him at that moment, as if she felt his gaze upon her; she gave him a flirtatious smile and winked at him; when he did not smile or wink back, her face turned serious. She excused herself from the person she was speaking with and left the living room to join Remy in the mahogany and silk-wallpapered east hallway. "How you doin', sugar?" she asked, she wrapped her arms around his neck merrily, the smell of mulled wine was slightly on her breath.

_God I could really use a drink about now,_ he thought dourly.

"I'm fine," he lied, and he wrapped his arms around her small waist, "you smell like mulled wine, all spicy and sweet..." he breathed in.

"Aren't you the charmer," Rogue smirked, "why you standing out here in the cold hallway instead of hanging in there in the warm living room?"

"Too crowded. Besides, I get a better view of your ass from here," he faked a sleazy grin.

"Very funny," she rolled her eyes at him, "you're faking being happy though. What's wrong?" she asked.

_She can really read me like a book these days,_ he thought.

"I'm just tired. Found it hard to sleep last night through this stupid pain..." he glanced down to his chest, he could see the tape from his dressing from the slit in his button down shirt. "Then I had really weird dreams last night and when I woke up I didn't feel like I slept..." he shrugged.

"Dreams about what?" she queried.

"Working a nine-to-fiver in a really gross office with an ugly-ass off-white shirt on and a tie behind a computer..."

"That's not a dream, that's a nightmare," Rogue made a face, "not very you at all."

"I know..." he sighed, "I think I'm just...I don't know, sometimes I think about how a _normal_ life for me and you would be and I guess – maybe includes all that stuff."

"That's _your_ idea of a normal life? Working in an office? Remy, you can barely check email without downloading a virus...you behind a computer? It's like putting a two year old in charge of the Danger Room – it'd be ridiculously impossible..." she laughed.

He didn't.

"What?"

"What I mean to say..." he frowned, "is that if you wanted _that_ kind of life. If that's what you wanted of me – to get a nice normal office job...I'd do it. For you."

She tilted her head, "that's...kinda sweet," she admitted. "But I wouldn't want you to work in a gross office..." she ran her fingers against his cheek, the soft suede of her glove was comforting in a small way. "That kind of life, that isn't us. I'm not sure we really _can_ have a normal life."

A moment of silence followed; he wasn't happy with her answer, and he was sure she knew it to, but she didn't try to elaborate or change her mind about her feelings about it.

"I love you," he murmured softly to her; he hoped she knew it was true enough because she'd be questioning it soon enough when the truth eventually came out about Jessie.

"I love you too," Rogue smiled, "c'mon, I want to introduce you to people."

"Actually, I think I'll pass on introductions for the moment, I got some things I need to do...so I'll catch up with you at dinner, and you can introduce me then," he smiled. He gave her backside a quick pat before he quickly exited the hallway, leaving her there alone slightly confused.


	2. Chapter 2 Drunk

Chapter Two

Drunk

When Kitty arrived downstairs, Kurt Wagner was sitting on the staircase admiring the tree by the large windows. Holding Caleb securely, she stepped carefully down and sat beside him.

"Hey," she said softly.

He turned to look at her, he smiled his fanged-but-oddly-warm smile, "glad to see you're home again."

Kitty adjusted the blankets around Caleb, "I was expecting to see you when I was in the hospital, but you never showed..."

"I had to go back to Muir Island to get the team to bring them here for the Christmas dinner..." Kurt said, "and the flights are so long, you know..."

"Ah," Kitty said, she gave a slight nod.

"Besides...you had everyone else here around you, and I didn't want to get in the way of everyone – they've all been excited about this. This baby is the first baby here in many _many_ years, you know..." Kurt gazed down at the infant, he stroked the baby's cheek with the back of his right hand index finger. "So...what did you name this little guy?"

"Caleb Carmen Pryde," Kitty replied, "he looks like a Caleb, doesn't he?" she asked.

Kurt smiled, "I think he does. So...what are the plans? Are you going to involve his father?"

"No..." Kitty winced at the thought, "I...I don't think he's really ready to be a dad, and besides...I don't really love the guy, or even have any attraction to him. And I know he kinda likes me; it'd just cause so many complications...and feelings...and the last thing I need is a custody battle over him if things got ugly..." she gazed down into her baby's sweet face.

"I understand..." he nodded. "Kitty...if you ever need..."

Kitty raised a hand and put her finger to his lips to shush him, "don't say it, Kurt. 'Cause it'll just hurt both of us...you have to be in Scotland, I have to be here, and long distance romances never work out right."

Kurt sighed upon her finger, "Kitty...I..."

Kitty tilted her head to look at him, "I still feel stuff towards you too," she said, before he could say it, "but..."

Kurt leaned over the baby, and brushed his lips against Kitty's in a very tender way, "If that's the way you would like it to be, then I can live with that..." he said softly afterwards, "I will see you at dinner."

Kitty watched him teleport out of the room, the puff of smoke smelling strongly of sulpher; she wafted it away from Caleb's direction. She sighed and touched her mouth, the tickle of his moustache of fur was still there on her mouth – she'd forgotten how much she'd missed it. And him.

Ooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooo

When Rogue went to find Remy she couldn't find him anywhere in the downstairs of the mansion. After having been slightly side-tracked by the many guests who soon would be dining in the very grand dining hall of the mansion, she finally managed to get upstairs to search the upstairs rooms.

She thought it unusual; he was in such a strange mood lately, and it seemed his depression was getting to him again that she wondered if he'd been tapering off the lithium she knew he was _meant _to be taking. It was a hard subject to broach. It had crossed her mind to casually ask a few times, but it seemed so difficult; she barely spent enough time with him to notice if he was properly taking care of himself.

The sounds of an old Eagles album drifted from the wing Remy's room was in; Rogue followed it as it got louder and louder until she found Remy's door slightly ajar; she entered to see him sitting on the floor with his back against the footboard of his bed.

"Remy, what are you doin' up here?" she asked, she glanced down at him; the bottle of Jack Daniels in her hand left her feeling rather disappointed. "You're...drinking..."

"Everyone drinks at Christmas. You've had a few," he pointed out.

She squatted by him, "a few, not half a bottle..." she grabbed the bottle from him and placed it down on the floor, "what's goin' on?"

"Why does anything have to be goin' on?" he asked, his voice had that heavy slur in it that suggested he was just on the verge of being completely drunk.

Rogue sighed, "y'know...you never used to drink. Seems like this past few weeks it's _all_ you've been doin'."

"That's cheap coming from you," he shot, "I seem to remember chasin' around a rather _drunk_ you before you were even legal enough to drink."

"That's not the point, Remy," Rogue frowned, "the point is that you're mixing drink with painkillers – that part's obvious since you're on painkillers for that stupid laser wound. What else are you mixing it with? Are you even _taking_ your medication?"

"I stopped that shit. It wasn't working," he tilted his head back to rest on the footboard, he closed his eyes.

"You haven't been to a doctor in a while either, have you?"

"Nooooooope," he replied, very aloof.

Rogue bridged the gap between them to straddle his thighs, she put her hands on his face gently and raised his head so he would look at her; "Remy, you're worrying me. Can't you just tell me why you're spendin' so much time on the bottle? Is there something I should know?"

"No, I'm fine, cherie. I'm better than fine. I'm just tickidy boo. Things never been grander," he wrapped his arms around her waist, giving a soft almost amused chuckle. He tried to pull her closer but she pushed him back, frowning.

"People who're fine don't go off on Christmas day to get drunk alone in their room while listening to The Best of The Eagles..." Rogue pointed out.

"Touche."

Rogue brushed her gloved thumb tenderly against his cheek, "are you sad?"

"No."

"Stressed?"

"No, I'm fine," he reiterated, this time, much more slowly, and much more slurred. "Apart from the big burny hole in my chest, I'm great, okay?"

"Then _why _are you up here drinking?"

"I just...I wanted some time to think, is all. I was _plannin' _on coming down when dinner was ready."

"Yeah, you'd come down absolutely slammed and unable to speak coherantly. That's _real_ chrismassy, isn't it?" Rogue made a face.

"Y'know...you're beautiful," Remy admitted, his mind wandering, "and when we figure this power thing out--"

"Shut up. I'm gonna bring you up some coffee and we're going to sober you up; if the Professor sees you like this...hell if KITTY sees you like this while she has a new born in this house, she's gonna go absolutely berserk. You need to straighten up and fast."

"I'm fine. I just need a lil' lie down is all," he pulled himself up; Rogue watched as he stumbled around the bed and fell down onto the mattress across it diagonally, chest down.

_That must have hurt, _Rogue thought. And she knew it to be true – the pain he was going through without anything touching that wound; it must have felt like it was on fire the moment he dropped down upon that bed..

With a heart-sinking sigh, Rogue got up and sat upon the mattress beside him; his eyes were closed, his face serene. She stroked his soft brown hair away from his forehead; "Remy, you're starting to scare me," she murmured softly.

It seemed he'd already fallen asleep.

"Remy..." she shook him, "wake up. I'm not done talking.

He let out a grunting snore; she smacked his back and he didn't move. He'd passed out, and there was nothing she could do short of taking him outside and throwing him in the snow.

Or...

Smirking to herself, she pulled him up from the bed and hauled him over her shoulder easily with her superhuman strength – she carried him to his ensuite bathroom and dropped him into the shower stall – she reached in, trying to avoid getting her sleeve soaked as she turned the dial to let very cold water rain down on the drunken man.

It took a moment, and then suddenly he gasped, eyes snapping open, he choked momentarily on the water as he tried to speak then leaned forward to try and get out of the water, Rogue pushed him back.

"No, you sit there and sober up, for gods sake," Rogue frowned.

"What--" he looked around, slightly disturbed and confused.

"You passed out," Rogue uttered.

Remy leaned up and turned the dial of the shower; the water stopped, he tried to get up and only succeeded in getting onto his knees before he slid, he fell out of the shower stall at her feet, still drunken.

"I have _a lot_ to say to you and I want you sober for it. Now I'm gonna go into the bedroom and wait while you dry off, and you better be prepared to sit and talk this out," Rogue warned before leaving him alone in the bathroom.


	3. Chapter 3 Getting Somewhere

Chapter Three – Getting Somewhere

Remy was wearing nothing but a towel around his waist when he emerged from the bathroom, the dressing on his wound had come off thanks to getting soaked, and Rogue could see the ugliness of it. There seemed to be a chunk missing out of his chest, around two inches in diameter; the area around the wound was red, there seemed to be no skin around it at all. The edges of the skin near the wound were blackened.

Rogue felt a sickness in the back of her throat as she stared at it, she had to look away. It hurt to see it; Remy had once possessed the body of an adonis...well developed muscle and smooth tan skin, but now all she saw were scars and the signs of dry skin; some scars were small, some larger, faded, from years of being on the run. His body was still incredibly toned of course, but he was thinner.

_It's been too long since I saw him like this,_ Rogue thought as she looked him up and down from head to toe; once the body she couldn't wait to get her hands on was now the body she was beginning to fear touching in case she broke. _I don't understand...how did Remy get so...so frail?_

_"_What's with the look?" Remy asked, he lowered his head to look down at her and she could see the droplets of water sliding down the tendrils of hair that was so wet it almost looked black.

Rogue's eyes teared up slightly, and she had to fight her emotions to force them back before they spilled, "when was the last time you actually _looked_ at yourself in the mirror?" Rogue asked, "Look at you. You're so...thin, and tired..."

"I've always been thin," he shrugged, "I burn calories easily, always been able to eat what I want."

"Yes, you've always been _thin,_ Remy. But...you're not _burning_ calories anymore. You've been out of action for a while, you're not even working out or exercising, so why aren't you gaining weight?"

He came to sit beside her, and she moved away a little; too much of his flesh was exposed for her to be comfortable near. Accidents happened sometimes, after all, and it was the last thing he needed right now. Besides, she didn't relish the idea of being electrocuted again either.

Remy didn't have an answer for her of course, he just sat quietly, hands on his lap, staring off towards the wall.

"I want you to stop drinking," Rogue stated after a moment, deciding she had to get right to the point with the man.

"I barely drink," Remy scoffed.

"Oh come on, this past two weeks, seems all you've done is drink..."

He shook his head, "that's a lie."

"Right," she muttered. "What day was it that you didn't drink on? I must have missed it."

He fell silent again, he leaned forward, forearms folded upon his lap.

"I want you to stop smoking, too. And I want you to get therapy."

"Talkin' to shrinks has never fixed any of my problems. Don't you think I've _tried_ that before?" he turned to look at her.

"I bet you never stuck around long enough to even give it _time_ to work. When you left seven years ago, I went into therapy...it helped, it got me over some things."

"Certainly got you to stop wearin' black," Remy mused, glancing at her from the corner of his eyes to admire her in the creamy lace blouse she'd decided to don for Christmas.

Rogue took a few moments to think about her next approach, she hugged herself, "Remy. You know I love you, right?"

"Mmm," he answered.

"And that if I _didn't_ love you, or care, I wouldn't be here tryin' to talk some sense into you?"

"Of course I know this, chere," he ran a hand through his wet hair.

"Remy, we're finally _getting_ somewhere. We're finally getting to where I think we can finally _stop_ the fighting and arguing, and just _be_ together."

"We are," he agreed.

She put her hand on his shoulder and squeezed gently, "If that's so, then surely...you can just talk to me..."

"I will, when I'm ready," He looked at her seriously, "there's things that sometimes are too hard to talk about, Cherie. When the time is right, I'll open up – when it _feels_ right. Right now...I don't wanna scare you away again..."

Rogue tilted her head to look at him, "what could you possibly tell me that's going to scare me away?"

"I'll tell you when you're better prepared..." he promised.

Rogue got off the bed, she felt as if she wasn't getting anywhere with him, and there wasn't enough time to argue the point with him, especially with dinner time approaching and a multitude of guests downstairs to feed. "You should get dressed for dinner, it'll be soon."

"How soon?"

"Maybe half an hour?" she shrugged.

"Plenty of time," he murmured, "c'mere..." he put his hand out to her.

"Uhm...why?" she looked at him strangely.

"Stolen time together in all the chaos?" he replied. "Maybe we can try to touch again..." he offered.

"No thanks. I've had enough electrocution for one week," she assured, "besides, we have plenty of time to work on that – _after_ christmas. You really should get some dressings on that wound, sugar," Rogue pointed out, "I'll send Hank up to do it – just get your self dressed."

oooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooo

Hank McCoy gently dabbed at the wound with antiseptic – the pained expression on Remy LeBeau's face was enough to make him wince and slightly recoil as he tried to clean the wound without causing too much pain.

"Hurts," Remy hissed through his teeth, he closed his eyes tightly.

"I'd be worried if it didn't hurt, to be honest," Hank confessed. "Moira called earlier to wish me a Merry Christmas, and while she was on the phone we discussed the procedures which will regenerate the flesh and muscle that you've lost – after the new year, Moira would like you to fly out there and test it out."

"So soon? I thought it would be months..."

"The discoveries they're making over there are really staggering," Hank explained, "they're finding out new things every day – every other hour – and have reason to believe that this procedure could leave you without any scarring – quite astonishing to think of it."

"Yeah..." Remy trailed off.

"You don't sound thrilled," Hank confessed, "I thought you would be anxious to get rid of the pain and the wound so you can get back to training again – which I know was one of your passions."

Remy stared into space, "of course I want to...I mean, yes, I definitely want to be rid of the pain but..."

"But what?" Hank queried.

"I just found out about Jessie..." Remy pointed out.

"Oh. Yes, quite right," Hank nodded, "I guess the thought of having to leave her here and go somewhere else so soon after learning that she's yours, well...it must be quite hard to imagine separating so soon."

"The whole situation has been hard to imagine," Remy pointed out. "I have a kid – don't even know who the mother is..."

Hank pressed the dressing to Remy's chest and taped it gently into place, "this may seem like a very embarrassing question, but...have you ever made any, uhm...donations to a sperm bank?"

Remy frowned, "of course not. Mutant spunk isn't exactly high in demand to wanna-be mothers. Nurses and doctors would see my eyes, and know right away what I was – it wouldn't be possible to make a donation."

"Never any private donations? Friends trying to get pregnant without fathers being there, anything like that?" Hank queried.

"No. Look, I'm _careful. _ I know I have this bad reputation when it comes to sex, but...I'm _careful."_

"Alright. I was just trying to help understand this a little more. Now that you know, there were so many questions I wanted to ask, but if you're as careful as you say, then I guess you're just as in the dark as I am."

"I can't leave her here now, mon ami, I can't just...go off to get fixed up and _leave_ her here when I've just gotten her..."

Hank smiled a little, "you can take the re-constructive procedures when ever you feel ready, no one will force your hand," he promised. "But for the sake of your health, I'd suggest it as soon as possible so that you maybe be rid of the pain that's been plaguing you."

"I'll consider it, but I need time to think..."

"Another thing I would like to touch upon...the drinking on top of those painkillers. If you're going to continue to drink, my friend, I must stop prescribing those pills – and I assure you without them the pain will be more intense."

"I.."

"It's not my business why you're drinking, Remy. But it is my business that you are – while you're here and under _my_ care I have to be sure you're healthy or I'm not a very good doctor, am I?"Remy looked away, he didn't have an excuse or a reason to give the man.

"You're not asking for my advice," said Hank, "But...I'm going to give you it anyway," he finished taping the dressing on. He put the tape back in his box of surgical supplies. "You have a lot going for you. If you can't stop drinking and smoking for yourself...perhaps you can consider doing it for your daughter...and for Rogue."

"I'm trying my best, mon ami," Remy despaired.

"Then it seems your best is not good enough," Hank frowned, "I understand that the shock of learning the truth about Jessie probably drove you to the drink that I can smell on your breath _this_ time, but you must get yourself together. She looks up to you, even without knowing who you are to her. Do you really want her to see you drunk? Or for that matter, chain-smoking?"

"I...no..." Remy looked away guiltily.

Hank closed the box of supplies and picked them up, putting them beneath one arm, "you _do_ want to be involved in her life, don't you?"

Remy felt quite suddenly defensive. He glanced up, "of course I do!"

"Then buck up," Hank warned, "you're a father now. You need to be responsible and _act_ like one."

"That's the problem," Remy sighed, "How do I act like a father?"

"I'm sure it'll come to you."


	4. Chapter 4 French Toast

Chapter Four – French Toast

When Remy arrived downstairs to join everyone for dinner, the table was already almost full – except for one seat nearer the bottom of the table, far from almost everyone he knew. He supposed if he'd arrived earlier he may have gotten a better seat near Rogue – or Jessie. But that wasn't the case.

He sat down, only vaguely giving a nod of acknowledgement to the people he was dining with – he only knew a few of the twenty or so guests. He knew a few faces as students of the institute years ago – now all grown up. Tabitha Smith, for example, and she glanced over to him and gave a flirtatious smile. Remy only smiled very wanly at her, and looked down at his plate, soup had already been served moments ago before his arrival. Everyone had begun to eat before he'd even arrived.

He tried to eat, he got through half a roll and few spoonfuls of the delicious broth, but his stomach was unsettled and he didn't feel very hungry. He scanned the table for the familiar faces of the X-Men. He spotted Jessie sitting beside Jean Grey; she was apparently being chided because she didn't like the soup she'd been served and wouldn't eat it.

Jessie noticed him in his seat, and she grinned at him with her gap-toothed smile, and waved at him – the bracelet he'd given her sparkled on her wrist.

Rogue and Jean began to help with the clearing of the soup course; Rogue beelined for Remy and examined the contents of his bowl; "you've barely eaten," she said, somewhat concerned.

"I've never been big on soup," he replied, he forced a smile at her, and tried to pretend that everything was fine.

When the dinner course was served, it came in through the door ahead of Jean Grey floating telekinetically – and set itself down on each exquisite place setting gently. She balanced thirty plates easily with her powers without breaking or dropping a single one. Remy stuck his fork in the turkey; knowing it was too dry and that would be chewy and hard to force down; but he made himself eat anyway. He forced down a few roasted potatoes, and a honey roasted parsnip or two – it was too hard to eat any more than that, it was all either overcooked or undercooked. He supposed it wasn't the fault of Jean Grey and Ororo Munroe who had been cooking everything. The sheer bulk of the meal alone would have made it incredibly difficult to provide a perfect consistency since there was very little time for attention to detail.

Still, everyone seemed to enjoy theirs somewhat and no one complained; except Jessie, of course.

From the other end of the table between Jean and Logan, Remy could hear Jessie complaining that she didn't like the parsnips because they were stringy and hard, and tasted like 'socks'. Remy had to inwardly laugh at this.

"I'm sorry, Jessie, but it's what everyone's having..." Jean tried to be patient.

"I don't like turkey," Jessie pouted.

"Eat it kid, it's good for you," was Logan's grunt from the other side of the tiny girl.

Remy frowned; he didn't like the idea of Jessie being made to suffer inferior food on her very first Christmas, and he didn't like the thought she'd be forced to eat it now.

It was, after all, his first Christmas with the girl.

"I can make her something," offered Remy from the other end, speaking loudly enough to be heard so that everyone turned to look at him strangely.

"I mean...she don't like this kind of food, she's a kid, it's normal, right? But...it's Christmas so...it's not fair to make her eat it," Remy stood up from the table, leaving his plate hardly touched,

Jessie smiled as he approached and reached for her hand; everyone watching questioningly.

"Thank you, Gambit," said Jean, although she didn't sound thankful, perhaps because she didn't like the fact Jessie didn't like what she'd put down to her.

Remy took the girl to the kitchen, and began to look through the freezer for something the girl would eat.

"Miss Grey is mad at me," Jessie said, pushing her way in front of him to look into the fridge.

"She's not mad," Remy said, although he was sure she was.

"She always puts down icky stuff for dinner – I don't like it," Jessie grumbled.

"She's putting down healthy stuff – make you big and strong," Remy explained.

Jessie groaned, "but it _all_ tastes like poo!" she replied as she picked up a tub of ice cream from the freezer with a hopeful look – Remy grabbed it and placed it up on a higher shelf, chuckling.

"Sorry, no ice cream for dinner. For dessert, maybe," he looked down at her.

"I don't like any of this stuff," she sighed as she walked away and climbed onto a chair at the kitchen table.

"Well what _do_ you like?"

"I dunno," she shrugged, "I don't like a lot of the food from here. It's like the food at the orphanage, it's always icky veggies and gross meat."

He smirked a little, "do you like...French Toast?"

Jessie's large grey-blue eyes looked at him, she was intrigued, "what is it? Is it toast made in France?"

"No, it's just the style it's prepared," he answered, he closed the freezer and went to the fridge for some eggs, he picked out the carton and placed it upon the counter, "and since you don't know what it is, I guess you've never had it."

"Do you like it?"

"I love it," he replied.

"Can I help make it?" she hopped off the chair and came over.

"Do you know how to whisk eggs?" he asked.

She shrugged.

Remy set out a bowl and cracked some eggs into it, he retrieved a whisk from the utensil drawer, very aware of Jessie watching his every move. He set a small step-ladder which was generally used for reaching the top shelves of the high cupboards out for her, and she climbed up so she had much better access to the counter, he stood behind her and took her hand in his with the whisk clutched tightly in her tiny fingers.

"Try not to get the eggs everywhere," he said, circling her hand around quickly so the mixture began to whisk. When he let go, she was particularly bad at it, her motor skills not quite as good as his.

"Do they eat French toast in France?"

"Sometimes," Remy replied as he went searching through the spice rack for anything that would add a little flavour without adding too much heat to the mixture; "I had French toast in Paris once," he admitted, "but it was sweet, with vanilla and sugar, and syrup..."

"That sounds weird," she confessed, "I only ever had it with butter."

Remy smirked, "I'm sure you would find many of the foods from France rather odd," he confessed.

"Do they _really _eat Frogs legs and snails?" Jessie looked over her shoulder at him.

"Oui," Remy chuckled.

"And you had some?"

"Cuisses de greouilles avec l'ail. It was rather nice actually. Tasted like chicken," he smirked.

"That's so gross," Jessie scrunched up her face.

Remy watched her whisking the eggs, wondering if she would like Paris, if he would ever one day be able to take her there. He would have liked to have shared the beauty of France with her – and to perhaps one day take her to New Orleans during Mardi Gras. It seemed strange to be considering these things already when it had only been five hours ago he'd found out the truth about Jessie being his daughter. It almost seemed like a dream he was bound to wake up from sooner or later.

He added milk, and a tiny touch of seasoning to the mix; he fried some thinly sliced baguette in a frying pan, watching the eggy mixture bubbling a little at the sides. Jessie sat at the table silent, thoughtful for a time.

"Mr. LeBeau?" she finally asked.

To be called Mr. LeBeau had always sounded very odd to him even before, but now that he _knew_ he was her father, it sounded even more bizarre and unnatural to hear her call him this. But what _could _he ask her to call him? She was too young to understand the situation – he couldn't ask her to call him daddy when she barely knew him even if they _were _related by blood.

"Y'know, Jessie..." Remy left the food frying on a very low heat, and he walked over, he knelt beside her chair, "I think you should stop calling me Mr. LeBeau..."

"But my teachers at the orphanage said it's _always_ polite to call grown ups Mr or Mrs...or Miss...or Madame...or Sir..." Jessie rambled.

"Sure it's polite. But it sounds strange now that we're such good friends," he pointed out. "It's not like I call _you _Miss Crowell, do I?" he asked.

"I guess not," she shrugged, looking at him. "So what _should_ I call you?"

He thought about this for a moment, it was a fair enough question. What _should_ she call him? In his ideal world, it would have been daddy, but that wasn't the case. At the same time though, he knew it would be even more strange for her to call him by his first name. "For now, you can call me Gambit," he offered.

"But that's not your name..." Jessie squinted at him.

"Sometimes it is," he admitted, "just like Ororo's name is Storm, or Logan's name is Wolverine..."

"How come Rogue only has _one_ name?" Jessie asked, "she's just _Rogue._"

"She doesn't just have one name," Remy got up and wandered over to the stove to check the food, it was cooking nicely.

"So Rogue isn't her real name?"

"It may as well be," Remy shrugged.

"You call her Chere, sometimes," Jessie noted.

"Yes."

"Is that her real name?"

"No. That's just something I call her, and always have...it's French for _dear_," he explained.

"So what's her _real_ name?" Jessie asked, "'cause maybe I should be calling her that?"

Remy paused, he almost considered perhaps telling the seven year old girl that Rogue's real name was Marie, and that she hated the name and had tried to drop it for many, many years. Not many knew it, and Remy wondered if he might be the only person in the mansion who _did._

"I don't have a real name," came a voice from the doorway leading from the hall; both Jessie and Remy turned to see Rogue standing there with her side pressed against the doorjam, her arms folded, a slight smirk on her face.

"Mr. LeBeau is making French Toast," Jessie grinned at Rogue.

"French toast, huh? You've never made that for _me," _she raised an eyebrow at him and smiled.

"Maybe one day I will," he replied back to her as he flipped the toast in the pan.

Rogue walked up beside him, she murmured, "how's things?"

"They're fine," he said, he didn't have to feign an upbeat voice this time. "Me and Jessie just been discussing names."

"He doesn't like being called Mr. LeBeau," said Jessie, sounding very adult about the whole situation.

"Of course not," replied Rogue, "that'd make him feel like too much of a grown up to be called 'Mr.'," she joked, and Jessie giggled in response.

Remy looked between the pair of them; they seemed to have already bonded a little; he wondered if it might be best to just tell Rogue right away about what he'd found out that morning.

_We could be a family, me, Rogue and Jessie,_ Remy thought as he retrieved a plate from the cupboard.

Rogue sat opposite Jessie, it was obvious she was escaping the dinner guests before dessert had to be served.

"Can I ask a question?" Jessie asked.

"Sure," Rogue shrugged.

"Are you and Mr. LeBeau gonna get married?"

Rogue glanced at the girl, somewhat surprised. She then looked at Remy, her expression slightly darkened.

"I said nothing," Remy said to Rogue, before she had the chance to blame him for anything. He wasn't sure where Jessie had come up with this question from – it was so completely out of the blue.

"Where...would you get an idea like that?" Rogue raised an eyebrow and stared down at the girl.

"Mr. LeBeau has a ring on...isn't that the finger married people wear a ring on?" Jessie asked, she propped her elbows up on the table and let her chin rest in her hands.

"Well...sometimes. But sometimes people just wear rings on those fingers too even if they aren't married or engaged..." Rogue tried to explain.

"I think you should get married," Jessie confessed.

Rogue squinted and glanced to Remy; Remy responded by shrugging. It wasn't like he'd said _anything_ to the girl. He was sure about now Rogue must have been suspecting he had. "Why...would you think that?"

"I thought all people who were in love are supposed to get married."

Remy served out the toast onto a plate, he grabbed a knife and fork from the drawer and put the plate and silverware down in front of Jessie. "Sometimes things aren't that simple, Jessie," he decided to rescue Rogue from having to answer the questions, he smiled a little and took a seat at the table, "now eat your French Toast."


	5. Chapter 5 What Can Be

Chapter Five – What Can Be

Remy leaned into the cradle to stare in at Caleb Pryde, the tiny scrunched up face as the tiny infant yawned with a tiny toothless mouth. He smirked, "I wanna say he looks like you, petit," he said to Kitty, who was standing at his back, "but to be perfectly honest...it's like looking at Mr. Magoo in a romper suit and a woolly cap."

Kitty came over, "I know. It's funny how babies are so ugly and yet...so beautiful at the same time," she leaned beside him, staring in. She smiled down serenely at the child, as if looking at him was like staring down into sheer happiness.

Remy glanced at Kitty, "You're happy, aren't you?" he asked.

"Of course I am..." she picked the baby up from the crib and cradled him in her arms, "he's so perfect."

"Yeah you're saying that _now,"_ Remy folded his arms, "but what about when he starts puking all over every nice shirt you own, or cries every night keepin' you up."

"I know it's going to be hard," Kitty kissed the baby's head, "but it's also going to be wonderful..."

"Do you want to hold him?" Kitty offered.

"No thanks," he replied, he moved over to sit on the rocking chair, it was surprisingly comfortable for a non-padded seat.

Kitty gazed over at him, "You don't like babies much, do you?"

"I don't have much experience with them," Remy shrugged.

"You did all the research when Bella Donna was pregnant, so you know about them," Kitty came over, "c'mon...just take him..."

"Really, I don't _want_ to," he said, a little more sharply.

Kitty rolled her eyes and sat upon the bed, "So...I heard you found out."

"About?"

"Jessie."

"Oh. That," Remy's face turned sour.

"I...guess you're mad at me," Kitty chewed her lip.

"If this whole thing was reversed and it was _me_ who had kept everything from you...wouldn't you be?"

"Of course I would," she confessed, she rocked the baby gently, "I've been trying to tell you for a while. It was what I tried to tell you in the hospital, but you didn't want to hear it..."

"You've had _plenty _of ample opportunity before then to tell me."

"I know that. But Hank and the Professor didn't _want_ me to. They said it wasn't right to tell you when we were so unsure of how Jessie even came to be."

Remy looked away from her.

"Then I figured it would be good for you to spend time with her before you found out, that way when you developed instincts and a bond with her, you'd know for sure it wasn't because you were obligated to once you found out what your relationship was...but because you wanted to..."

"I thought you were just trying to make us both compensate for what the other lost..."

"It wasn't _about_ that," Kitty got up and walked over, still holding the baby in her arms, "it was about giving you a chance to know your daughter..."

Remy felt silent.

"Aren't you happy?"

"I don't know _what_ to feel to be honest..." he confessed. He gazed up in confusion as she leaned down to put Caleb in his arms. He floundered helplessly, it reminded him too much of being handed his stillborn daughter only seven years before; it hurt to look into that face, being reminded of Gabrielle.

Kitty seemed to know exactly what he was thinking. She knelt down in front of her, "It's okay to feel stuff, you know..."

"No, it's not, it's really not..." he kept staring down at the baby. "I had to look down into that baby's face and see all the stuff she would never be – I had imagined how her future would be and she never got to have any of it. And sometimes I wonder if it was _my fault._"

"What are you _talking_ about?" Kitty demanded, "Gabrielle was a stillbirth, the umbilical was wrapped around her neck, how could you have had _any _hand in that?"

"The stress I caused Belle maybe, when she found out me and Rogue were still in love?"

"No. It was just an accidental death, no one _caused_ it. No one is to blame for nature, Remy..."

"I just...I constantly keep thinking of _all _these things Gabrielle was going to be. And I haven't been able to get them out of my head since the day she died. And I know it's silly, because it was so long ago and I should have moved on...but..."

"No, a parent who loses a child never completely gets over it..." Kitty shook her head, "and if you _had _gotten over it, I'd be worried because you'd either be in _so_ much denial, or possibly blackhearted. But you're not blackhearted. And proof of that is you were getting paternal instincts for a girl you didn't even know you were related to – you've been willing to love her like your own anyway, even despite all this doubt that you ever could or that you couldn't hold yourself together."

Remy looked at her, his dark eyes searching hers, not sure if he would find answers or doubt.

"You've lost a child – it was tragic, and it hurts. But you've gained another. She's not Gabrielle – and she never will be. But she will be the one who can help fill some of that massive hole Gabrielle's death left in your heart. If you let Jessie in more than you have, you might finally begin to find a reason to live again...you might even find happiness in it."

He looked away, emotion was overwhelming him so much that when he breathed it seemed to grow thick in his lungs and weigh down his heart.

"Stop thinking about what could have been and start thinking about what _can _be."

Remy handed her the baby back, he couldn't do this any longer. When Kitty moved back he got out of the chair, "and you tell me what _can_ be, petit, 'cause honestly, I'm racking my brains here for an answer to _that!_"

"I..."

"I can't tell Jessie that _I'm_ her real father – how many years am I supposed to wait before I can? Or do I spend the rest of my life keeping it from her to stop her from being hurt that the guy she thought was her father wasn't at all? And what about Rogue? How am I supposed to explain to Rogue after me and her have just begun to finally get past all our problems that I have a daughter now? Can I even tell her without knowing Jessie's maternal origin? Because knowing Rogue, she's going to be focusing on that and timing up Jessie's conception with the time me and her were still together!"

Kitty had no answer.

"Can I tell everyone else and put up with the speculation that I've slept with _so_ many unknown women that I truly don't even know who Jessie's mother is – letting the rumours spread so fast and thick around the mansion 'til Jessie herself hears them through the mouths of the older students?"

"That won't happen," Kitty frowned.

"I can't be with Jessie without raising suspicions. How long do you think it will be, petit, before the child molestation rumours began?"

"Oh come on! No one thinks you're capable of that!" Kitty was angry for him even thinking anyone would suspect him of such a terrible thing.

"Come on, I dated Rogue when she was fifteen and I was Nineteen."

"These days that _isn't_ all that unusual. All these teenage celebrities these days are even dating twenty-five year olds. And anyway, she was _sixteen. _You didn't date until she was sixteen."

"That's _not_ the point."

Kitty rocked the baby in her arms as she spoke, "stop worrying about what people think. You never used to..." she pointed out.

Remy stood near the door of her room, "This whole thing is a mistake...maybe I should just...just pretend I never found out."


	6. Chapter 6 Too Much at Stake

Chapter Six – Too Much At Stake

"It doesn't feel like Christmas," Rogue commented as she stood outside with Remy later that evening; he was sitting on the porch in his favourite spot, cigarette in hand.

"I've missed so many Christmases here I honestly can't tell you exactly _how_ they feel," Remy confessed, he flicked the cigarette ash into the pristine snow, he watched it roll away in the wind.

Rogue came to sit beside him, she hugged herself to keep warm, "It's nice having you here...for once. Feels kind of...surreal though."

"That it does, chere," Remy turned to look at her. The porch light wasn't the most flattering of lights – it left most of her face in shadow; but her hair shone brightly and her streaks of white glistened just like the snow on the ground. He gently swept it away from her face carefully, being sure not to brush his flesh against hers.

"Did you talk to the Professor about your powers?" Rogue asked; she watched his hand as it was near her. Obviously having been electrocuted by that very hand less than twenty four hours ago, the memory was quite fresh and when he was so close to touching her, it was cause for slight alarm.

He paused to think about it; he'd spent most of the day thinking about his daughters – both Gabrielle _and_ Jessie. He had found it hard to concentrate on anything else. So when she asked him if he had spoken to the Professor about his powers, he found it very difficult to remember if he had.

"Yes," he finally answered, suddenly the Professor opening up fresh mental wounds about the past came forth like a flood after a collapsed dam. Remy fought to keep himself in check.

Rogue looked at him, expecting him to continue with whatever he had to say. When he didn't, she tilted her head, "aaand?"

"And what? That's it? Do you want me to pull down a curtain and say ta-da?" Remy frowned.

"What was the outcome of the discussion?" Rogue rolled her eyes at his immature response.

"We'll work on it. What other outcome were you expecting?"

"What did the Professor say?"

"Not much," Remy replied to truth – it had been hard for the Professor to say anything when Remy had quite abruptly walked out on the conversation when it got too real.

Rogue shoved her hands in the pockets of her woollen jacket, "I guess if the Professor didn't have much to say on the subject, it be all that bad," she admitted as she stared down the driveway.

"Yeah," Remy tossed the cigarette away.

"Either that or you just walked out in one of your foul tempers..." Rogue chewed the inside of her cheek.

Remy turned quickly to stare at her, "what?"

"It's just your kind of reaction. Sometimes you have a short fuse and if you don't have an actual statement to relay to me from the Professor, then I'm guessing you probably got mad at him and walked out. You've always been kind of...I don't know...protective about your powers. Especially since you got back from Genosha."

He got up, "Y'know, I don't need this right now..."

Rogue got up quickly too, "stop getting defensive."

"I'm not defensive. I'm going for a walk," he made his way down the steps quickly, "I'll see you later."

"Where are you going?" Rogue asked.

"To clear my head," he uttered.

oooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooo

It was almost eleven when he approached the Bayville Cemetary. The gates were different than he remembered – beautiful iron filigree with flowering accents – an improvement on the rusty old things that used to hang slightly askew. He reached to push the gates open then realised that they were locked – a huge thick chain had been coiled twice around the gates to keep them closed, and a rather strong looking padlock was on the end.

Strong as the padlock looked, he saw it as nothing more than the type of lock that would easily take two different turns of a couple of tools to gently nudge and click it open. Still, he wasn't as criminal as to break into a cemetery grounds, and even if he was, he didn't have the proper tools with him.

But what he did have was the ability to climb over the gates. Climbing fences and gates had always been particularly easy to him but this time, he had a rather large wound on his chest which made it more difficult. What had one been effortless was now a slow and painful shuffle to the top and over.

_This is insane – definitely not the kind of thing I should have to endure to visit my daughter's grave,_ he thought rather tragically as he dropped to the other side and landed quietly upon the path. Still he'd made it this far, no point in turning back now.

He made his way through the graveyard, almost getting lost. It was different now. There were bushes and small trees where there hadn't been any before. And large gravestones which had left him disorientated. He'd once known his way around the place like it was the back of his hand – he'd visited his daughter a few times after her interment but now he felt like the deadbeat dad who didn't even know where she was.

Finally he found her grave, it was a small modest headstone made of marble, and some vines had begun to crawl up the left side of it to cover the last name "LeBeau" and the last E of her first name. Remy knelt down upon it and grabbed at the strong vines and tore them off; they were mostly dead thanks to the weather, but they were still hard to pull nonetheless. He smoothed the snow from the top of the stone and with his fingers he gently swept any dirt out of the engraved epitaph.

He wished he'd brought flowers, or some kind of thing to leave on the grave but he hadn't thought ahead. In truth, he knew he should have done this _long_ before now and felt guilt sweeping over him that it had taken so long to get here.

"Hi, baby," he sighed softly. "I bet you're...pretty mad that it took me so long to get here...even though I've been back in town for quite a while..." he sighed and dug his fingers into the snow and let them touch the cold hard earth covering her grave. "You made much more of a sacrifice to see me, I'm sure. That night I couldn't find Jessie...that was you there, I knew it. That light leading me to Jessie – to your little sister..." he closed his eyes tightly.

The cemetery stayed silent despite his hope he might hear something – even a gust of wind or a shifting in the trees just to let him know his daughter was with him. But nothing.

"I guess when Betsy said that someone else here needed me, you knew it was Jessie, huh?" Remy asked, "You knew all that time...and you couldn't find a way to tell me..."

The snow began to fall again, touching his cold cheeks, and sitting on his eyelashes. He looked up to the sky, which seemed more of a dark grey than black. He shivered although he didn't feel particularly cold at that moment.

"I don't know what I'm meant to do now, Gabrielle. I'm so confused," he said, his voice coming out in a sob, "I don't understand what's going on with my life....and all I can think about is that losing you was the day I lost everything that held me together..."

A slight breeze brushed against his neck, the snowflakes melted there on his skin; overwhelming exhaustion settled over him and he lay down on the grave, his cheek on the bottom of the headstone so he could feel how cold and smooth it was on his skin. For a moment, it was the only thing he felt other than the strange numbness and his mind felt at peace for the first time in what felt like years.

"Do you want to give yourself Hypothermia?"

Remy opened his eyes and glanced up, Rogue was standing there over him, her hands in her pockets. "Not quite," he sighed, "I just needed some peace – this seemed like a good place to find it."

Rogue knelt down as he sat up, they looked at each other. "Did you find it?"

"A little," he patted the tombstone, "my little girl been long overdue for a visit."

She hugged her knees and looked at the tombstone, "y'know, every time I think of her, I think of how scary things could have been..."

"What do you mean."

"Well...if things had gone right, I would have been acting as her mother. And by now that kid would be _so_ screwed up."

He laughed a little, "well, she's my blood so I'm sure it was due to happen anyway," he was smiling, but then it faded. If this was true, then he knew Jessie was eventually going to be doomed just by sharing his bloodline too. He shivered at the unsettling thought.

Rogue sighed, "do you want me to mollycoddle you, or do you want me to tell you the truth about how things are?"

"Tell me how it is."

Another sigh, "Gabrielle would _hate_ what you're doing to yourself. The alcohol, the painkillers, the cigarettes, the self-deprecation...Remy, you're _destroying_ yourself. _Again._ And she would hate it."

He stared down at the ground, shamed.

"What do you think she'd _say_ if she could see you today, Remy? Do you think she'd have been happy that you got yourself so _drunk_ on Christmas day that you passed out and it took an icy shower to wake you up? Do you think she'd like it that you go through a twenty deck and a half of cigarettes every day? And how do you think she'd feel about you obsessing over her death to the point where you've basically stopped _living_?"

He faltered, "I..." he tried but couldn't say anything.

"She'd hate it, Remy. She'd hate what you're doing. You're killing yourself slowly and painfully...and she can't be in heaven if she has to be _here_ worrying about you..."

Remy's eyes met Rogue's. He'd never truly believed that she had actually believed him when he told her he'd seen his daughter when he'd died. But he hadn't told her that he'd seen Gabrielle the night Jessie had gone missing. Rogue wasn't huge on believing in ghosts and spirits – Rogue had never been hugely spiritual even in her darker days. But if she was talking this way, then surely she believed Gabrielle was with him all the time.

"You're a father, Remy," Rogue sighed.

He looked at the tombstone wistfully, thinking of what could have been.

"And just because she's not with you physically, you're never going to stop _being_ a father."

_How true,_ he thought, wondering if she possibly knew about Jessie. But then he decided if she'd known, she would have said by now. Or the Professor would have. No, Rogue didn't know.

And now definitely wasn't the time to tell her.

"And no matter what happens, you have to find a way to get _through _it. You have to move on, Remy – you have to keep living.. You can't sit blaming yourself for Gabrielle's death, or wondering what _could_ have been the rest of your life or you're going to miss _living_ it...and there's so much more to live for. More than alcohol and cigarettes and cheap thrills..."

"You're right," Remy sighed, he stood up and grabbed Rogue's hands and pulled her to her feet, "I can't just keep living in the past. You've started to move on from what _used_ to be. I should too...it's just...it's so damn hard and so much is changing _so_ fast."

"I'll help you. I know I've said that in the past and totally just _not_ helped because of the things _I've _been going through. But I'll be here this time. I really want this to _work_ this time. I want to help you get through this and I want us to move on together. But my wanting it isn't going to make it work, Remy. It has to come from _you_ too."

Remy nodded, "I want it, cherie, I want it so badly...." he gave one last look at the grave, in a sombre voice he murmured, "I have too much at stake now to let myself fall apart..."

THE END (Or is it? DUN dun duuuuuuuuuuuun)

Well it took me TOOOOOOO long to get to episode 8, but here it is (yay!) and Episode 9 should follow shortly soon. Thanks to the people who have been reviewing and adding me to their favourites - it's nice to know people are still into the story, as it's you all I'm basically writing for now. Reviews are always appreciated. :)

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